Let Go
by Gabriel Gatsby
Summary: Um di dum


Prompts: Surprise, Numb by Linkin Park, first person POV

* * *

"Malfoy."

My heart skips a beat, before starting again in double-time, as dread floods my senses. For a moment, the urge to flee is so strong that I find myself rooted to the spot, staring off, longingly, down the corridor.

 _Fight it._

I swallow hard, before slowly turning on my heel.

"Baldwin," I croak, past the growing lump in my throat, and he smirks. His piggy eyes gleam with hard emotions. Eager anticipation wars with bitter resentment across his face, and I can feel him daring me to try something. My fingers itch for my wand, but I curl them into fists.

 _Fight it._

Smug satisfaction seems to win out, as he raises a heavy fist, curling his fingers in mock-imitation, before bringing it down in one fell swoop. I choke as the air is forced from my lungs, and crumple forwards, heaving desperately. He doesn't give me time to recover, though, instead taking advantage of my position to knee me in the head. The blow sends me tumbling to the side, and stars dance in my vision, even as I try desperately to blink them away.

 _Fight it._

Shaking my head, I look up–and catch sight of Penelope, standing behind him. Beautiful, cruel Penelope. For just a moment, her gaze locks onto mine, and I can see pity mingled with disgust reflected in her eyes. She hates me, but not as much as she resents me. We were promised from before birth, and, like it or not, are tied.

Her lip quirks with distaste, before she looks away.

 _Fight it._

"Don't look at her!" Baldwin demands, snapping my attention back to him with a kick to the head. Pain explodes from my temple, and I barely hear his next words.

" _What_ my father is thinking, marrying her off to a pathetic weakling like _you,_ I don't know."

I dare to look up once more, and barely have time to register the boot flying at me, before it connects with my head and everything flashes white. In that moment, time seems to slow.

 _It's because I am a Malfoy. I am a Malfoy. Fight it…_

Then it all goes black.

* * *

Wakefulness comes to me like a dream. Blurry and unreal, it takes me a moment to realise that it is, in fact, reality at all. I feel hazy, and my jumbled thoughts take their time finding the culprit for their state of disorder. After a moment, I realise: I've been drugged.

Blinking my eyes open, I squint against the bright white of the Hospital Wing, and slowly ease my mind out of its potion-induced state. Recalling my most recent memories, I cringe at the thought of Penelope's disregard, and Baldwin's twisted resentment. Raising a heavy hand to my face, I test the flesh there. Tender, but not bad.

"Oi, you. You awake, now?"

Snapping my head to the side, I wince as I wrench my neck–not fully healed, then–before peering up at the figure looming by my bedside. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust, but soon I recognise the unmistakable, messy, black mop, and manage to place the familiar voice. Of course, everyone knows who the sons of the famous Harry Potter are.

"Want to tell me what the hell you were doing, letting him go at you, like that?"

The blunt question catches me off-guard. I hadn't realised anyone else had been watching. How long had the boy been stood there?

"I jumped in as soon as I could, but you were out cold. Had to drag your sorry arse all the way here, on my _own._ I'd say you owe me a butterbeer, or three."

I can only stare. Who does this boy think he is? Who does he think _I_ am?

 _I'm a Malfoy,_ I want to say, but somehow can't get the words out. Maybe it's the potion, slowing my mind, or maybe I really _haven't_ woken up yet, but there's something distinctly surreal about this whole scenario. James Potter, talking to _me._

"Mute, is it? Don't worry. My Uncle George doesn't talk a whole lot, either, but we get along just fine. Mum says I talk too much, but honestly, I think it's a virtue. Why not, when there are those that want to listen?"

"I'm a _Malfoy,"_ I finally manage to say, and my voice is laden with all the incredulity I feel.

"You let him do that, cos of your name? Well that's bloody stupid."

"What?"

"Letting someone beat you up, just cos you've got a stupid name. Did you get brain damaged?"

"I do _not_ have a stupid name."

"Sure."

"What are you doing here, anyway?"

"I dragged you here, remember?"

"But you could have just left me."

"And miss the moment where you wake up, thank me for saving your life, and I get to brag about being a hero, once again?"

He looks at me, as though I've just said the most ridiculous thing in the world, and it's all I can do not to gape openly.

But somewhere between the end of that question, and the start of his next, something clicks.

 _He feels sorry for me._

In a rush, like a tidal wave sent to drown me, everything comes back. How could I have forgotten so easily? I am a _Malfoy._ He is the son of Harry Potter.

"So, how about that butterbeer?"

What would my father say? I almost cringe, at the thought. The question hangs in the air, as he watches me, expectantly, awaiting an answer.

"No."

"Aw, c'mon, it'll be-"

"No. Get out." I practically recoil from the sound of my own voice. It sounds just like my father's.

James just looks at me for a moment, curiously, but I avoid his gaze.

Then someone calls from the entrance.

"James!" The moment seems to snap, as he turns towards the sound of his name, and waves at the small assembly of students, all waiting for him. "What are you doing?" one calls, but he doesn't deign to answer, instead turning back to me.

"Whatever," he says. "Suit yourself, _Malfoy."_ And with that he turns away.

I watch him go, as he jogs over to his friends, and it's like something in me wants to call out. Tell him to stop. To wait.

"What was all that about?" a blonde girl asks as he catches up, glancing over his shoulder to where I lie.

"Just asking him to the pub."

"What? Why? Isn't that Scorpius Malfoy?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So, why would you want to ask him to the _pub?_ "

"Why not? He's a guy like any other, I bet he does like butterbeer. Probably just didn't want to admit it. I am usu… ight abou…"

As the group slowly shuffles away, they gradually slip out of hearing range, and I am left alone, with the white walls, and the quiet, and myself. Staring at the now empty archway, I feel my eyes prickle uncomfortably, as something hollow settles in my stomach.

 _Fight it._

Quickly, I look away, and smother those emotions with thoughts of pure-blood pride and family loyalty. My father's disappointment. My grandfather's expectations. My mother's concern.

Taking a deep breath, I box them up, and tuck them safely away.

I am a Malfoy.

* * *

"I want you to invite the Goyles round for dinner."

I twinge my neck again as a look up, jerkily, at my father's suggestion–or, rather, demand.

I resist the urge to reach up and massage it, instead gripping my fingers a little tighter around the silver tableware. The matron had done a good job, but it hadn't taken long for Baldwin to catch up to me again.

Luckily, concealment charms work just as well as healing, for covering up.

"Penelope and Baldwin?" I ask, conversationally, though the question is redundant. We know no other Goyles.

"And their parents, of course," he says.

"Of course," I echo. He does not need affirmation that I will do it. It was not a request. Although my mind revolts at the idea of spending an evening with the two, in the company of my parents and grandparents, I know there is nothing to be done. I will invite them round, and they will come.

"How are your grades, Scorpius?" my grandfather asks, and I'm grateful for a topic-change.

"The top of my class," I reply, but the absolute truth creeps out of me a moment later. "Except for Penelope, of course."

"Oh?" he asks, an inquisitive brow raised, and I catch the warning look in my father's eye.

I have to remind myself to unclench my jaw to speak.

"Yes, she is ahead in Potions and Defence against the Dark Arts, at the moment." It wouldn't have helped to lie. They always find out anyway, somehow.

I can practically feel the weight of their expectations, pressing down on me. There's a long pause, in which the only noise is the clinking of cutlery on plates, and I try my best not to breathe too loud. Not to let my heart beat too hard. Biting my lip, I focus on my plate.

 _Fight it._

I take a deep, silent breath, before looking up again.

"But I am taking advanced classes in Transfiguration," I say, my tone light. "Last week, I…"

Although my mouth continues to speak, I ensure that is the only thing engaged. Packing my box a little tighter, I push it a little deeper into the sea of apathy I am cultivating.

* * *

"Who did this to you?"

I cringe away from his anger, his bitter resentment, and his touch. I should have been more careful. I hadn't expected him to come in, unannounced. Maybe my performance at dinner wasn't convincing enough. When did I slip up?

"Answer me when I ask you a question, Scorpius." His tone is threatening, and my mind begins to race for reasonable explanations. His eyes are searching, and I avoid them in my desperation to conceal the truth.

To confess that it was _Baldwin,_ with his bare fists and bad temper, would bring more shame and disappointment than any other. The Goyles are both valued and invaluable friends of the Malfoys. This, I discovered the truth behind for myself, years ago when an overheard conversation revealed the true state of our so-called social status. We need the Goyles. My marriage to Penelope will be our salvation.

A name… I need a name…

"James Potter."

I see my father's face, usually so unmoveable, go through a series of changes. From dawning realisation, to anger, to hatred, to disappointment.

"Potter? He's a match for you, at wand work?"

"He caught me off-guard," I quickly go to defend myself. Better to admit to being caught off-guard, than beat out-right. Of course, Potter would never be a real match for me. Having trained since before most owned a wand, only Penelope who had done the same could match me.

"He didn't respect the rules of engagement?" I can see my father's mind ticking round, and it's all I can do not to try and take back the name I had uttered so carelessly. I can't say another word, as suddenly it's as though I can see events unravelling before me, too fast for me to hold back. I should have known better.

"No," I say, having already sealed my own fate.

My father looks at me, and I know what he is asking. Malfoys do not get attacked, unawares. They do not get bullied. They do not lose.

 _Fight it._

Slowly, I nod my head. He looks at me approvingly, before glancing back down at my arm and back.

"Do not tell your mother about this."

* * *

"Scorpius… what are you doing?" James' brow furrows as he looks at me, not afraid, but confused.

"Get out your wand." It doesn't matter how ill-equipped James will be to fight me even with his wand in hand, it would not be proper to attack an unarmed man.

"No. What's this about, Scorpius?"

I know I must look mad, but I shut that away, too. Guilt threatens to rise, but I sink it beneath the thick sea of apathy and let my mind go blank.

"Just do it, James."

There's a pause, in which he looks at me, in that same way he did before. Eventually, he shrugs.

"Fine, if it makes you happy." I don't wait, though, for him to be ready. As soon as his wand is in his hand, I let the spells roll off my tongue.

"Shit! Scorpius, what the fuck?" His seeker-reflexes save him from the first few spells, but he won't be able to dodge forever. I let my mind go, and just focus on slowly but surely trapping him. He's throwing up defensive wards, but he's not thrown a single spell my way.

"Scorpius!" he shouts again, but I only stare blankly ahead. "If this is about the beer-" he starts, but is cut off as the first spell makes contact. He gasps, as a cut opens up his arm, and blood pools out, staining his shirt. Clutching it with his free hand, his brow furrows, no longer in confusion but concern.

Scorpius realises after a moment he's trying to read his mind. So his father taught him a bit of Legilimency, did he?

It's time to end this.

* * *

I stare at the blank, white walls of St Mungo's Hospital, as healers and ministry workers murmur around me. I can barely hear them, anymore. I'm emerged in a deep sea of calm. Of numbness. It soothes me to the core. I feel nothing.

"Scorpius Malfoy?" someone says, and slowly, I turn. "Your father has arrived."

For once, I don't need to fight it. There is nothing to fight.

"Okay," I say. All accepting. All consuming. I feel as though I could take anything.

Walking in, my father comes straight up to me, and for a moment simply looks searchingly from one eye to the other. I don't know what he's looking for. Wasn't this what he wanted?

I barely have time to flinch, though, as the back of his hand connects with my left cheek. For a moment, no one says anything. For a moment, I feel perfectly still. Perfectly at peace.

But like the calm before the storm that must end sometime, I soon feel the first crack appear. Heat that begun on my cheek, begins to spread. I can feel it being pumped around my body as my heart speeds up. My breathing slowly becomes faster and faster as the mask cracks and slips.

Everything I had fought for begins to crumble. Emotions I thought I had hidden for good, slip from through the cracks and pour out. Small leaks become tidal waves, and I can't control it. Magic charges like static in the air, and looking up at my father's face, I see it.

Etched into every line and crevice, every furrow of his brow and in the way his eyes widen, infinitesimally.

Shock.

Of all the things, he did not predict this. That Scorpius–controllable, useable, perfect, pure-blooded, Scorpius Malfoy–would say _enough._

There's a blinding flash of white, as magic erupts and engulfs everything around me.

 _Let go._


End file.
